The Towers of the Sunset - L. E. Modesitt [38]
Is the woman who called herself Megaera a witch? Is her name even Megaera? And what does it mean? And why will he pay? With a second shiver, he drops the questions. She has to be a witch. But why does she follow him?
“Careful. The guards here are sort of touchy,” Hylin volunteers.
“Oh?”
“They worry about everyone being an agent of the White Wizards,” rumbles Derrild from the cart. “As if worrying’d do them much good.”
“I don’t know much about the White Wizards—” begins Creslin.
“Later,” hisses the mercenary.
Three guards in black leathers greet the travelers at the post on the far side of the bridge. A low stone wall runs along the eastern bank of the small river, broken only by the bridge and the stone gates.
The main city walls are a good kay ahead. Fenard appears to have been designed to withstand a prolonged assault, yet Creslin cannot recall any tales about battles in or around the city.
“Your business?” asks the middle guard.
“Trade,” wheezes Derrild. He flourishes a heavy leather folder, letting it fall open to a page on which is embossed a gilt seal over purpled wax. “My seal . . . from the prefect.”
The guard nods politely. “And what are you trading this season? Any hempweed or dreamdust?”
“Demons’ brew,” Derrild snorts. “None of that. A few trinkets; some spices, like ryall seeds; some vials of cerann oil; purple glaze paste from Suthya for the potters of Jellico.”
“Let’s see.” The guard steps toward the bags on the cart.
Derrild sighs as he slides off the cart’s bench seat. “What’s a poor trader to do?” He loosens the largest sack. “If you would like to see for yourself . . .”
The guard peers into the sack.
Derrild thumps the sack, and a faint, dusty haze surrounds the guard’s head. “Just dried glaze powder . . .”
“ChhheeWWW . . . AHHHCHWEEE . . . ACHWEEE . . .” Tears stream down the guard’s cheeks as he continues to double over with violent sneezing.
“Now, in this pack . . . here is the cerann oil. Each vial is stoppered with wax. That’s because the oil can burn your skin . . .” Derrild’s voice rumbles on as if nothing has happened.
“CHHWEEE . . . ACHWEEE . . .”
The trader gestures toward the third sack. “And here—”
“Just . . . CHWEEEE . . . move on . . . ACHHWEEE.”
Hylin’s lips are pressed tightly together as they lead the mules past the two lesser guards. One of the guards, a youth not any older than Creslin, also has his lips pressed tightly together.
Not until they are almost to the main walls, with an open and unguarded gate, does Derrild comment. “Damned officious fool. Waste of good glaze powder. They never learn.”
Hylin shakes his head. “Even his own guards were trying not to split their sides laughing.”
“Why didn’t he use his weapons after that?” asks Creslin.
“Because he can’t. He turns on one of the trade guild, and we’ll threaten to send everything to Kyphrien.”
“But Kyphrien is still part of Gallos,” Creslin points out.
“True enough, but the guards are paid out of the city’s trade levies. Would you want to explain to the prefect how you caused all the traders to leave Fenard?”
“Besides,” adds Hylin with a laugh like a barking dog, “the traders have been looking for a reason to make the trade center of Gallos in Kyphrien. It’s warmer, and the prefect is here.”
“Wouldn’t he just move?”
“It’s not that simple,” Hylin responds. “The foretellers have said for generations that Fenard shall not fall if the prefect holds the Great Keep.”
Creslin raises his eyebrows.
“Ah, yes, it’s superstition,” interrupts the trader from the creaking cart. “But rulers have to follow superstition. What happens if Vaslek moves to Kyphrien? Then the peasants and the soldiers immediately believe that the city will fall, and they start looking for the worst. Their belief encourages some fortune-seeker to split off northern Gallos and live in the Great Keep, and before long, you’ve got a war and then some.”
“Just because of beliefs?” Creslin shakes his head.
“Don’t laugh, young fellow,” rumbles the trader. “What about those women guards? They’re the deadliest fighters on either side